Today my yard is flush with fledgling birds. I feel a kinship with their parents, each with a squawking baby to feed. Often there is only one parent (I can only assume it's the mother) with two or three little ones following behind, each with their mouths open demanding their next meal. "Feed me! Feed me!," they say with gusto.
And then I inspected my freshly planted garden, and sure enough, they had already snacked on my bean sprouts. I growled as I tried to salvage the few with roots, carefully poking them back into the dirt.
Obviously, I'm just an instrument of God for their survival. Doing my part to feed the starling population. Begrudgingly.
Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? Matthew 6:26-27
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